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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344044">Shape of My Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis'>MissDavis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parentlock, Valentine's Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:01:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>February, 2021: John (finally) moves back to Baker Street.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>John opened his eyes. "Thought we agreed we weren't going to get takeaway for every meal."</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>"We won't. This is a special occasion." Sherlock stepped back from the chair, unable to keep a smile off his face, knowing that when John got up, it wouldn't be because it was time for him to leave. He lived here now. Again. Finally. It wasn't everything Sherlock had ever wanted—John would still be sleeping upstairs, not next to Sherlock in his bed—but it was still very, very good. Nearly perfect. He exhaled, letting his shoulders sag as a tension that had lived in him for years began to dissolve. </em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection, Isolated Johnlock Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not beta'd or Britpicked and I'm not trying to use British spellings with this one. Maybe next time. :)</p><p>Title credit to Sting because I'm a middle-aged woman.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Wait, John. Don't bring that upstairs." Sherlock stepped onto the landing outside his flat and gestured at the cardboard box in John's arms. "Just put it here, in the living room." He moved aside to allow John space to pass through the door. </p><p>John shifted his hold on the box and frowned down at it. "It's Rosie's toys."</p><p>"Yes, I see that." Sherlock flicked his eyes briefly to the word "Toys" that was clearly printed in a child's uneven hand on the side of the box, then returned his gaze to John's face. "No reason to bring it upstairs when it's only a matter of time before everything in it migrates down here anyway. Might as well save yourself the work of carrying it any further."</p><p>John let out a long sigh. "There are Legos," he warned, but he brought the box into the flat and dropped it in the corner of the room, next to the small desk and chair that Rosie had been using for class ever since her school had gone remote last month.</p><p>Sherlock closed the door, then immediately saw the problem. "She'll want to play with the toys while she's supposed to be paying attention to her schoolwork." He should have realized that sooner; he'd been the one home with her every day while John was at work. </p><p>"Yeah. But we've got the weekend to figure it out. I'm done hauling boxes around for now." John walked across the room and dropped into his armchair with another sigh, though this one was clearly one of relief.</p><p>Sherlock glanced once more at Rosie's little home-school corner, then turned to examine John, who had closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the chair. Understandable. He had done most of the heavy lifting of the move today. Sherlock had tried to do his fair share, but ended up spending most of the day wrangling Rosie, who was also eager to help but tended to create more chaos with her efforts. Hiring movers would have been the obvious solution, of course, but he and John agreed it was not a feasible option in the midst of a pandemic.</p><p>He crossed the room and gave John's shoulder a brief pat. He'd learned the perfect amount of force and contact he was allowed to use in touching him, to maintain the fiction that his feelings were that of friendship and nothing more. "You have done a lot today. Take a break for a while. I'll finish helping Rosie set up her room, and order something for us to eat." It was late for lunch and early for dinner, but he knew he wasn't the only one who'd neglected food today, amid the tumult of the move. </p><p>John opened his eyes. "Thought we agreed we weren't going to get takeaway for every meal."</p><p>"We won't. This is a special occasion." He stepped back from the chair, unable to keep a smile off his face, knowing that when John got up, it wouldn't be because it was time for him to leave. He lived here now. Again. Finally. It wasn't everything Sherlock had ever wanted—John would still be sleeping upstairs, not next to Sherlock in his bed—but it was still very, very good. Nearly perfect. He exhaled, letting his shoulders sag as a tension that had lived in him for years began to dissolve. "Yes, we're celebrating today. Pizza, I think, so Rosie will eat it without a fuss." </p><p>John opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Rosie came flying out of the kitchen, a half-eaten biscuit in her hand. "Pizza!" she exclaimed.</p><p>"Whoa, whoa." John twisted around in his chair to look at her. "Back into the kitchen with that. You're getting crumbs everywhere." </p><p>"No, I'm not." Rosie stood still at the edge of the rug, one hand cupped beneath her chin as she gnawed at the biscuit, a heart-shaped monstrosity covered in pink icing, though Valentine's Day was still a week away. </p><p>"Yes, you are. Just because we live here now doesn't mean you get to make a mess."</p><p>"Sherlock lives here and he makes lots of messes!"</p><p>"Not food messes," Sherlock said. He strode into the kitchen, plucked a napkin from the pile on the table, then returned to the living room to hand it to Rosie. "And your father always makes me clean up all my messes when I'm done with them." He shot a glance at John to ensure that they would have a united front, even if it meant bending the truth a bit.</p><p>John shook his head, biting at his lip in an obvious attempt not to laugh. "Where'd you get that, anyway? We still haven't had any lunch."</p><p>"Granny Hudson gave it to me. She said I must be hungry from all the work I'm doing."</p><p>"All the work you're doing?" John raised his eyebrows in exaggerated shock. "How many boxes have you carried upstairs?"</p><p>"I did lots of unpacking!"</p><p>"Hmm." John crossed his arms over his chest, then leaned towards Rosie, face softening into a grin. "I think Sherlock and I deserve biscuits, too. We've all done a lot of work today." </p><p>"You can have some, too!" Rosie ran back into the kitchen and returned a moment later, walking slowly with a platter clasped between her two small hands. A pile of heart-shaped biscuits had been artistically arranged on the platter, clearly the work of Mrs. Hudson.</p><p>John reached out and took a biscuit from the top of the stack. "Maybe we can save the pizza for later tonight. And then tomorrow we'll start cooking and eating healthier." He looked up at Sherlock as he took a bite of the biscuit.</p><p>"Yes." Sherlock nodded, trying not to stare too openly at John's lips and throat as he chewed and swallowed. He cut his gaze to Rosie, instead, who lifted the plate of biscuits towards him.</p><p>"Thank you," he told her, and took the plate to set it down on the desk. They looked a bit too sweet for his taste, and that was quite an accomplishment. "Come here, you have icing all over yourself." He knelt down in front of her and used the napkin she'd abandoned earlier to wipe her face clean. "There you go. See? I'm very good at cleaning up messes."</p><p>Rosie laughed and threw her arms around his neck; he hoped he'd truly cleaned everything off her face. "I'm not a mess," she said.</p><p>"No, you're right. You're not. You're a wonderful little girl who lives in my house now, aren't you?" He hugged her back, then let go and looked over at John, who was watching them, clearly every bit as pleased with the situation as Sherlock himself was.</p><p>They stared at each other for a moment, then John smiled and leaned back in his chair, hands spread across the arm rests. "We did it, Rosie. We're moved in." His gaze passed over her and Sherlock again, then he turned away, towards the fireplace. "I'm going to start a fire, so we can be cozy and warm in our new home. How does that sound?"</p><p>"Yay! I want to be cozy and warm!" Rosie skipped away from Sherlock's reach, climbing into his chair as John squatted down and began to arrange logs and kindling in the fireplace.</p><p>Sherlock stepped back, silently watching the two of them interact. A fire was an excellent idea, but really not necessary, in his opinion. He was already much warmer and cozier than he had been in a long, long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My understanding of the current situation in England is that children of essential workers, including doctors, can still go to school in-person, but I assume John and Sherlock would rather keep Rosie at home.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Yeah, come on in," John called over his shoulder, from where he sat on the floor of the bathroom. Rosie was in the tub in front of him, sitting in a foot of warm water, hugging her knees to her chest.</p><p>The door behind him cracked open enough for Sherlock to stick his head in. "I finished mopping up the kitchen. Are you feeling any better, Rosie?" </p><p>"No," she moaned, lifting her head from her knees to look at him. "My tummy still hurts," she said.</p><p>"I bet it does." Sherlock stepped all the way into the tiny room, using one slipper-clad foot to nudge the pile of clothes that Rosie had thrown up on—her dress and tights, John's plaid shirt—out of the way. "Is this the box from the chocolates that Mrs. Hudson gave you yesterday?" he asked, holding up a large, heart-shaped box. </p><p>"Mm-hmm." Rosie put her head back down.</p><p>Sherlock lifted the lid from the box and tipped it so John could see that it was empty. </p><p>"Rosie!" John turned to face her fully. "You ate that whole box?"</p><p>Rosie's shoulders moved up and down once in a shrug. "Granny Hudson said I didn't have to share."</p><p>"Oh, Rosie." He knew he should be upset with her, but instead he was relieved. Not Covid-19—she'd simply been sick because she'd eaten two dozen pieces of chocolate. </p><p>Rosie slid back in the tub, as if trying to escape, and John put his hand out to stop her. "Hey, hey. It's okay. You're not in trouble. But maybe now you understand why I never let you eat too many snacks all at once, right?"</p><p>"Mm-hmm." Rosie hugged her knees again. "I'm cold, Daddy. Can I have more hot water?" </p><p>"Sure." He shifted his position on the floor so he could reach the tap, pushing his shirt and Rosie's dress further away as he moved. </p><p>Sherlock turned as if to leave, but then bent down and picked up the soiled clothes. </p><p>John glanced up at him, surprised. "You don't have to do that."</p><p>"Nonsense," Sherlock said. "I've already cleaned the kitchen floor. A bit more vomit won't bother me. I'll start a load of laundry while you two finish up in here." He wrinkled his nose at John. "Take off your vest, too. You've got it all wet from the bathwater."</p><p>John frowned down at himself for a moment, then yanked his vest over his head and handed it to him. Might as well take advantage of the offer while it was available. Though that was unfair, he knew. Since he and Rosie had moved in this past weekend, John had noticed Sherlock doing more household chores than he ever had before.</p><p>Sherlock left the room and John let Rosie finish up with her bath—it was really just a warm soak to make her feel better. She climbed out of the tub and he handed her a towel, then realized he had no clean clothes for her. "Hang on, sweetie. I'll run upstairs and get you something to wear." </p><p>Before he could even turn around, the door that led to Sherlock's bedroom opened and Sherlock entered the bathroom once again. He handed Rosie a faded green t-shirt and held out a dark blue shirt to John.</p><p>"That's your shirt."</p><p>"Yes, well-observed. You can borrow it for now."</p><p>John looked up at him, puzzled. "You—thank you, but I don't need—"</p><p>"Oh, just put it on already, John. It's February—you can't go wandering about the flat shirtless."</p><p>John grabbed the shirt, scowling at Sherlock's tone, and shook it out. One of Sherlock's expensive tailored shirts, and in the deep, rich color that always made John's gaze linger, because it looked so good against Sherlock's skin. "I wasn't going to wander about shirtless. I was just going to go up to my room and get my own clothes to wear."</p><p>"Well, now you don't have to. You're welcome, by the way."</p><p>"I said thank you."</p><p>"I know you did." Sherlock looked away from him, towards Rosie. "How's that shirt fit you, little rose?"</p><p>Rosie giggled and flapped her arms, lost inside Sherlock's t-shirt. "It's too big!" </p><p>John shook his head and pulled Sherlock's shirt on. It fit him. More or less. The sleeves were too long, of course, and the shoulders were wider than he expected. As he buttoned it, he glanced over at Sherlock. Yes, Sherlock's shoulders were broader than his. Not that John really minded. Especially when Sherlock was deep in a case, hunched over a laptop with his suit jacket off and his shirt stretched tight across his back. But that was...not something he should be thinking about right now. </p><p>Sherlock held his arms out to Rosie, who let herself be picked up, even though she had been saying she was too big for that lately. "Feeling better?" he asked her.</p><p>"A little."</p><p>"Well, I bet if you eat no more chocolate for the rest of the day, you'll feel a whole lot better by tomorrow. Let's take you upstairs and find some clothes that are more your size, hmm?" He turned with Rosie in his arms towards John. "Oh, but Daddy looks handsome in that shirt, doesn't he? He doesn't need to change."</p><p>Handsome? John tried to keep his expression neutral. Sherlock was just making conversation with Rosie—he didn't really mean it. Did he? No. Unless it was a veiled criticism of John's own wardrobe. </p><p>Sherlock carried Rosie out of the bathroom and John turned to look at himself in the mirror. Handsome was not the first word to come to mind. And the shirt was too big on him, although when he rolled up the sleeves a couple of times, it looked fairly normal. </p><p>He turned away from the mirror, feeling the smooth fabric of the shirt shift against his bare skin. He remembered Janine, prancing around in nothing but Sherlock's shirt when she'd thought she was dating him. John had assumed she'd worn the shirt as some sort of trophy, but maybe she'd just liked the way it felt. And the way it made her feel, having something of Sherlock's so close to her. Because John had plenty of nice shirts of his own, but wearing them felt nothing like this.</p><p>He closed his eyes and swallowed. A bit not good. Sherlock had only been trying to be kind, by letting him borrow the shirt. He would doubtless be appalled if he knew the direction John's thoughts were taking as he wore it. He had accepted that his life with Sherlock would never include everything that he wanted it to, and he shouldn't let himself fantasize about anything more. But maybe it would be okay if he didn't rush upstairs to get changed into his own clothes. Maybe he could let himself enjoy this feeling, even if it was only for a little while.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm going to need the table cleared off by dinner time," John said, as he set the bags of groceries that had just been delivered down on the worktop.</p><p>Rosie looked up from where she sat with Sherlock at the kitchen table. "What are we having?"</p><p>"Your favorite potatoes," he told her, leaving out the details of the rest of the meal.</p><p>"With cheese on them?"</p><p>"Yes, with cheese on them."  </p><p>"I don't want cheese on mine," Sherlock said. </p><p>"I know," John said, and then looked again at what Sherlock was doing. "You know, I'm sure we have adult-sized scissors in this flat somewhere."</p><p>"These are fine," Sherlock said, without pausing as he cut out a heart from a half-sheet of pink paper. Only the tips of his fingers fit through the plastic handles of the scissors he was using. </p><p>John shook his head. "Are you making valentines?"</p><p>"Yes!" Rosie set down her crayon to look up at him. "One for everyone in my class. Sherlock's doing the cutting parts for me."</p><p>"Oh, I see." John hesitated, wondering if he should point out the obvious fact that Rosie would not be going back to school until at least a few weeks after Valentine's Day. </p><p>Sherlock picked up on his unspoken worry. "She's going to share them in their online class meeting tomorrow."</p><p>"Oh, that's clever." John turned back to the worktop and began to empty the bags of groceries.</p><p>"It was my idea," Rosie said. "Sherlock wanted to send them in the mail."</p><p>"Yes, I'm apparently not up-to-date on all the possible uses of this newfangled technology," Sherlock said.</p><p>John grinned and crossed the room to open the fridge. There were still some very-expired leftovers hiding in the back, but at least everything in it had once been edible. Sherlock had moved anything that wasn't food to a small fridge-freezer he'd installed downstairs in 221A. </p><p>John set to putting the food from the grocery delivery away, half-listening as Rosie and Sherlock chatted about their card-making process. Rosie decorated and wrote her name and the name of each of her classmates on the hearts that Sherlock cut out for her, but after they had finished a few, he began to encourage her to try to draw and cut the hearts herself.</p><p>"That's right, just fold it in half," Sherlock said. "Now draw a curve here and then down. Good, good. Then you just cut along the line and you'll have a perfect heart." He paused. "Well, a perfect symbol of a heart. Because, as you know, Rosie, real hearts don't look like this."</p><p>"Sherlock," John warned.</p><p>"What? She's seen anatomical drawings and photos of a heart before. You know what they really look like, right, Rosie?"</p><p>"Mm-hmm. All wavy and bumpy with tubes and stuff."</p><p>"The tubes are veins and arteries. But yes, that's what they look like." </p><p>Rosie picked up the scissors and began to cut very slowly along the line she had drawn, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips as she concentrated. When she'd finished, she unfolded the paper and asked, "Why do people draw hearts like this, if that's not really what they look like?"</p><p>"Oh, I suppose just because it's easier to draw."</p><p>Rosie wrinkled her nose. "But why do we draw hearts for Valentine's Day at all? We could draw circles and triangles, instead. Or rainbows!"</p><p>"Mm. That's a good question." Sherlock looked over at John, and for a moment John thought he was trying to pass the question off to him, but then he continued. "I suppose we use hearts because when you love someone, it makes a warm feeling inside your chest." He dropped his gaze from John. "And that's where your heart is," he added, and poked Rosie in the chest with one finger.</p><p>Rosie giggled. "That's kind of silly. I like to draw rainbows because they have lots of colors, but I guess hearts are okay, too."</p><p>John bit at his lip and turned away from them. Why had Sherlock looked directly at him when he'd said that? Had John been too obvious lately? He always tried to keep his feelings hidden, but that was harder to do now that he was once more living in the same flat as Sherlock. </p><p>"Yes, hearts are okay," Sherlock agreed. "And I think that's the last one you need to make, if I'm not mistaken. Let's count them to make sure."</p><p>John kept his back to Rosie and Sherlock as they counted out the valentines and compared the number to her list of classmates.</p><p>"Perfect. Let's go put these in your school corner so they'll be all ready for tomorrow morning." Sherlock escorted Rosie out of the kitchen.</p><p>When they'd gone, John switched his attention from the groceries to the kitchen table. They hadn't cleared the space as he'd asked, but a few scraps of paper and some loose crayons were certainly not the worst thing he'd ever had to clean up. He stacked the unused sheets of paper into a pile and began to collect the crayons. It had been a long time since he had sat and drawn with Rosie—for almost a full year now, he'd been working so much that he'd left most of the parenting to Sherlock. The time he himself spent with Rosie was largely confined to driving her back and forth from Baker Street to their old house. Now that they all lived here, it was easier to spend time together, even though his work schedule hadn't improved.</p><p>He picked up a red crayon and rolled it between his fingers, then impulsively pulled a white sheet of paper from the stack. He doodled a small heart in the uppermost corner, two curves meeting in a point, and began to color it in. No. That wasn't right. The only person he'd want to make a valentine for wouldn’t accept such an offering from him. </p><p>He sat down at the table and found a pencil, instead. Easier to sketch and shade with. A new sheet of paper, folded twice until it was the size of a greeting card. He drew quickly, without giving himself too much time to think about it. He was a decent artist, and quite familiar with this subject. A heart, anatomically correct, just like the ones Sherlock probably still had stored in the freezer downstairs. </p><p>When he was done, he sat back in his chair, satisfied with his effort. A valentine worthy of Sherlock. He opened it up and wrote Sherlock's name inside, used a red crayon to draw the traditional symbol of a heart beneath it, then added his own name at the bottom. He wouldn't give it to him, of course, but it had felt good to make it anyway. Cathartic. He folded the card closed again and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, then cleaned up the rest of the mess Sherlock and Rosie had left on the table.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock knew it was Valentine's Day. Rosie had been eating various sugary pink treats all week, even after the unfortunate incident with the box of chocolates. And of course, he'd spent Thursday afternoon helping her make cards to share with her classmates. But beyond that, he'd put the matter from his mind—it wasn't a holiday that affected him in any way. </p><p>So it was a bit of a shock when John walked into the flat on Sunday morning wearing not one of his normal boring weekend jumpers, but dressed as if he were going out on a date. Brown corduroy blazer over a neatly-pressed, blue checked shirt, hair styled more carefully than usual...did he have a date today? No, it was too early in the morning for a date, and anyway if he did have one, he would have told Sherlock, if only to let him know that he'd need to watch Rosie. Today was Valentine's Day, and John didn't have a date, but he was dressed as if he did, and, and....</p><p>Sherlock blinked and then John was standing right in front of him, his left hand reaching inside his blazer, as if to draw something from the pocket of his shirt. But he hesitated, uncertainty written across his face, and Sherlock squinted, trying to understand what would make him so unsure. What was in his pocket? It was.... "A piece of paper?"</p><p>"Yes." John seemed startled for only a moment, then his shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. "Oh, of course. You knew already. Did you see me making it, or was it something you deduced?"</p><p>"I...," Sherlock began, and trailed off.</p><p>"Did you snoop through my bedroom Friday when I was at work?"</p><p>"What? No. John...." There were too many confusing signals for Sherlock to be able to make any sense of this conversation. </p><p>John met his eyes for the space of a heartbeat, then pulled a folded rectangle of paper from inside his blazer. </p><p>Sherlock blinked again. Not just a sheet of paper. Not the way it was folded—it was a card. Hand-drawn, the front of it featuring a meticulously-penciled depiction of a human heart.</p><p>"For you," John said, and thrust the card towards Sherlock, who took it from his hand. </p><p>He ran his finger lightly over the drawing, still confused, then opened it up to read the inside. Simple, direct, it was...a Valentine's Day card, from John to him. </p><p>He looked up at John and saw that he was not mistaken, that John was giving him a homemade Valentine's Day card, and not simply as a gesture of friendship. It was a declaration of love. </p><p>Sherlock swallowed, lowering the card without taking his eyes from John's face. Of course. He should have seen it sooner. He had seen it sooner; he'd just never let himself believe what he saw. "John, I—" He paused, then spoke quickly, thoughts tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I’m sorry, I should have known. I should have deduced. I would have made you a card, as well. Or bought you a present—flowers or chocolates or, or...you don't wear jewelry. I—"</p><p>"Sherlock." John's hand was on his wrist. "Stop. You don't need to do any of those things."</p><p>"But." He raised the card a few inches higher between them; John was still holding his wrist. "I need you to know how I feel, too. I could have made you a card." He was repeating himself, he knew. He glanced down at the card, at the careful and intricate pencil work John had done. "In fact, this looks almost exactly like something I would have made myself."</p><p>John laughed, dropping his hand. The worry in his face had smoothed away. "I know it does. That's how I knew you would like it." He stepped closer, leaving only a few inches of space between their bodies. "But I don't need a card from you. There's really only one thing I want right now, if you're willing."</p><p>Sherlock wrinkled his brow, unsure of what John meant.</p><p>"A kiss," John said, and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>"A kiss," Sherlock echoed, and his body took over, leaning forwards and settling his hands on John's waist before his mind could even comprehend what was happening. He had never enjoyed kissing. He'd done it before, of course, but only a means to an end. It had never been real. He never understood why anyone liked it, but he'd never been kissed by John before. Oh. John was kissing him. Sherlock checked quickly to make sure that his knees weren't about to buckle, and then he opened his lips slightly, awed at the sensation. John did the same, and a moment later pressed his tongue lightly into Sherlock's mouth and, oh. Oh. This was why people liked kissing. Yes. </p><p>Time had lost all meaning over the past year, in most respects, but now every second ticked its imprint into Sherlock's mind. After 46 seconds, the kiss ended and John stepped back. His cheeks were flushed and the grin on his face made him appear even younger than the day they'd first met, over a decade ago. Sherlock wanted to wrap his whole body around him and never let go, but John started to talk, instead.</p><p>"I wasn't going to give it to you," he said, and it took Sherlock a moment to remember the card he still held clutched in his hand. "I was afraid that you wouldn't want it. But I had to try—I had to take that risk. I couldn't keep living here without you knowing how I felt and without knowing if you—"</p><p>"I do," Sherlock said. </p><p>"You do?" John asked. </p><p>Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I do. I love you, too. You knew that already. But I've also wanted you for so long. I just never knew how to say it. I never knew and I thought—" He cut himself off. Babbling would achieve nothing. "Where's Rosie?"</p><p>"She's down with Mrs. Hudson. I got her telly logged into our Disney+ account, so they should be occupied for a while."</p><p>"Excellent." Sherlock opened his hand and let the card fall to the floor—John wouldn't mind. One of them would pick it up later. "Come here. Happy Valentine's Day." He pulled John into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. He could feel a heart beating between them, fast but steady. He wasn't even sure who it belonged to, but it didn't matter, because he knew that both their hearts were beating for the same thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! If you enjoyed this, check out the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&amp;commit=Sort+and+Filter&amp;work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&amp;include_work_search%5Bfreeform_ids%5D%5B%5D=110&amp;work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bquery%5D=&amp;work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&amp;user_id=MissDavis">rest of my fluff fics</a>. (Or try something with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&amp;commit=Sort+and+Filter&amp;work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=word_count&amp;include_work_search%5Bfreeform_ids%5D%5B%5D=176&amp;work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&amp;work_search%5Bquery%5D=&amp;work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&amp;user_id=MissDavis">a little more angst</a>).</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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